Let's Pretend

I shot a couple of pictures of kumquats growing on a potted tree, and then turned back toward India Street. "Let's cross," I said, after assessing that neither of my companions was particularly interested in what remained toward the south. We traversed the empty street and turned back the way we had come, noting a small but attractive coffee shop along the way.

"I think," began one of my companions, "that I'm and idealist and you're a realist." She said it as if she'd only just realized this, and as if she didn't want to say it, for fear of insulting me.

I'm never insulted by being called a realist. I describe myself as pragmatic quite readily, and am admittedly one of the most practical people you'll ever meet. But the way my friend said it, you'd have thought she was calling me a racist, or something equally reprehensible.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, being very realistic.

"Well, I think you always try to find solutions to things. You don't ever just enjoy and idea for the sake of the idea. You always try to apply it."

Now, part of being a realist is that I don't like rough generalizations. I don't dismiss them altogether, but I'll usually point out the faults in a generalization just for the sake of clarity. But I approve of stereotyping on some occasions, in order to make a point. My students can tell you that I always say, "Stereotypes exist because they're true." And most of the time I say it to rile them up, but I'm secretly serious.

"I admit that I'm a realist," I replied. "But I can enjoy an idea in itself. I can bask in the possibilities and allow my imagination to roam. Only, I need to know that that's what we're doing. It's not my default setting."

"Well," said my friend, "whenever we're together, just assume that that's what we're doing."

We'd reached the coffee shop and I needed to use the bathroom, so I left the little group and when I returned I found the girls sitting staring at the menu. My one friend got up to go use the bathroom, leaving me sitting with the Idealist. I'd thought about it some more by now, and I had something to say.

"I don't think I should always have to make that concession," I stated rather flatly.

"What's that?"

"I don't think I should always have to be the one to back off. I'm a realist, and I find solutions. That's what I do. And sometimes you need to be challenged to take action, and not to just think."

"Yes, but I feel like that's all you do. I don't ever see you allowing me to dream or enjoy an idea. You're always taking me literally." The Idealist smiled.

"So..." I thought about this for a minute, then grinned. "So you're saying that when you told me I should always assume you're enjoying an idea for the sake of it, I shouldn't have taken you literally?"

She grinned back. We both laughed.

We dropped the topic for the moment, but her request resonated in my head for quite some time. And the more I thought about it, the more it hurt.

She may as well have said, "When we're together, let's pretend you're not here."

To ask me not to be a realist is to ask me not to be myself. And if she doesn't want me to be myself, then why are we friends? She likes me (she says) because I say what I think, and I don't mince any words. She likes me because I'm real.

But now she's asked me to not be real. At least not all the time. So, for part of the time, am I not to be myself? Am I to suspend my personality for her sake?

Let's pretend you're not you and I'm not me. And then we'll get along better.

Yes, but then we're only pretending to be friends.